


Dress for Success

by Maeve_of_Winter



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Clothing Kink, M/M, Manhandling, Possessive Behavior, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-18 03:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13673397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_of_Winter/pseuds/Maeve_of_Winter
Summary: Kent takes to wearing Ransom's shirts around the house. Ransom doesn't anticipate just how much he enjoys the sight.





	Dress for Success

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stag/gifts).



As far as clothing went, Ransom found that Kent tended to vary between two extremes: very formal and pristine, such as the suits he wore at hockey-related events, or casual to the point of looking scruffy. The latter primarily was flannels over t-shirts with jeans, an outfit Kent wore for everything from lounging around the house to going out to the club. The rare exceptions were the times when Kent went out to dinner with friends, Ransom, or Bob and Alicia, and on those occasions, once his teammates saw the paparazzi photos, they chirped him for actually bothering to make an effort to be stylish for once.

For his part, Ransom couldn’t care less what his boyfriend wore. He actually found it kind of endearing that Kent hadn’t allowed fame or fortune to change him.

“It’s a sign that he remembers his roots. He’s not trying to put on airs,” Ransom said to Holster once in defense of Kent’s near total lack of regard toward fashion of any kind. 

“It’s a sign that he doesn’t have to work as hard as the rest of us to get laid,” Holster groaned. “The man could get a date if he were wearing a burlap sack, I swear.” 

Ransom shrugged. To him, Kent in a suit was no different than Kent in an Aces t-shirt. Both versions of Kent were equally attractive.

At least, that was what he thought until he found Kent wearing his clothing.

He was coming home after a long day; he’d been in Canada, visiting his family. Kent was unable to come due to other obligations and was now awaiting him at home. A sudden change in plane schedules required Ransom to suddenly take the red-eye back to Vegas instead of the afternoon flight for which he’d initially planned, and he was left weary and bedraggled as he climbed out of the cab when it dropped him off. Dragging his roll-along suitcase behind him, Ransom unlocked the front door and dragged himself across the threshold of Kent’s mansion, unable to remember a time when he was more grateful to be home.

“I’m back,” he called, abandoning his suitcase by the stairs and striding further into the house.

He found Kent in the living room, where they spent much of their time together. While much of Las Vegas favored an ultra modern style of gleaming steel and clear glass, Kent had eschewed any contemporary designs in favor of the classics. His home was decorated with dark, polished woods, plush furnishings, soft yellow lamps, and long curtains of rich colors. In spite of the house’s large size, the decor gave the place a cozy, comfortable atmosphere that Ransom appreciated. The living room, with its rough stone fireplace and gleaming copper chandelier, captured the feeling best, making it his favorite place to curl up with Kent and simply enjoy the warmth and weight of each other’s bodies.

Kent was lounging on the couch with a laptop when Ransom trudged into the room.

“Welcome home,” he said affectionately. “Wasn’t expecting you back so soon, though.”

“My flight got switched,” Ransom explained briefly, collapsing down onto the couch with a weary groan. “I had to run out the door at the last minute to make it back here. I made that family in  _ Home Alone _ look like amateurs.”

“You poor thing.” Kent gave Ransom a kiss on the cheek and then pulled him in for an embrace that didn’t last as long as Ransom would have liked. He then stood. “I’ll have to come back later and give you a nice massage.”

“You’re leaving?” Ransom asked in disappointment. 

“Scrappy roped me into helping out with his daughter’s birthday,” Kent explained. “Some of the other parents was going to help, but he said they came down with a stomach bug.”

“Convenient,” Ransom muttered.

Kent laughed. “I thought the same thing. But I don’t mind lending a hand.” He clapped Ransom on the shoulder. “You stay here and rest while I go and deal with a horde of screaming children on a sugar rush. I’ll smuggle you out a piece of cake.”

“So thoughtful,” Ransom commented. A chirp about Kent’s babysitting abilities in comparison to his skills as a hockey captain began forming in his mind, but it vanished completely as he noticed the shirt he was wearing. “Hey, is that one of mine?”

“What? Oh.” Kent glanced down at the t-shirt. It was indeed one of Ransom’s, green with a slogan parodying the  _ Keep Calm and Carry On _ meme, reading:  _ I Can’t Keep Calm, I’m a Biology Major _ .

“It is yours,” Kent admitted sheepishly. He gave a self-conscious shrug, a slight blush tinting his cheeks. “I know it sounds cheesy, but I missed you when you were away. Wearing this made me feel better.” His hands strayed to the hem of the shirt, poised to pull it up above his head. “But I can take it off—”

“No,” Ransom said instantly, pulling Kent’s hands away. “I think it’s, uh, sweet that you’re wearing it. That you missed me. Seriously, go ahead and wear it.”

He really didn’t want Kent to take off the T-shirt, because Kent in his clothes? Was now officially the absolute hottest thing he had ever seen. He didn’t know what had previously been his top pick as the sexiest image in his mind, but it didn’t matter, because now his shirt on Kent’s shoulders was all he could focus on. The fit wasn’t perfect, as he was taller and broader than Kent, but the extra material only added fuel to his fantasies as he realized how easily he could slip his hands beneath the shirt and stroke the hard muscles of Kent’s abs. Mouth suddenly going dry and the blood rushing to his groin, a picture filled his mind of Kent on the bed, his head thrown back in ecstasy and the shirt bunched up around his ribs, moaning and scratching at the silk sheets as Ransom mercilessly railed into him.

God, he  _ wanted  _ that. He wanted that so damn badly.

“Thanks, Justin.” Kent gave him another kiss before striding into the hall. “I hope you feel better after you’ve rested. Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll cook tonight.”

The visions flashing through his mind about all that he wanted to do with Kent as he wore his shirt were so strong that Ransom barely managed to respond to the farewell. “Hey, um, great! I look forward to it!” And he did. Hell, he wished Kent was back already or not leaving at all, because all he wanted now was to throw Kent down on the nearest surface and have his way with him.

“See you!” Kent called, and the front door opened and then closed, leaving Ransom alone, his dick hard and aching in his jeans.

“Damn you, Scraps,” he muttered, hauling himself off of the couch to walk toward the stairs, all sorts of impulses raging through his mind even with Kent gone. 

Still, Kent would be home in a few hours. And until then, Ransom got to imagine all the ways they could get creative.

* * *

Kent came home with a large slice of cake for him, as promised, but also with a large amount of cake splattered on Ransom’s t-shirt. Unfortunately, there was no way Ransom could convince him to keep it on, and he waited dolefully as Kent changed back into one of his many Aces shirts.

“Sorry about that,” Kent apologized, as he rinsed out Ransom’s shirt in the sink by the washer. “I’m going to let it soak in detergent overnight, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll send it out to be dry-cleaned. But since it was only vanilla icing, I think all of the stains should come out.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s totally fine, man,” Ransom told him, trying to mask his disappointment at not getting to see Kent in his clothes any longer.

Still, it wasn’t like that one t-shirt had to be the end of everything, so the next down day they had together, Ransom presented Kent with the t-shirt he’d gotten from the Frozen Four.

“Last time you wore my shirt, It looked ’swawesome on you,” Ransom said, trying to play it cool and keep his tone casual. “Why don’t you try this one on?”

Kent shrugged and donned the shirt before turning to the full-length mirror to glimpse his reflection. “What do you think?” He tossed a glance over his shoulder at Ransom. “I’d say it suits you better, honestly.” 

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Ransom said with a smirk, coming up behind Kent and wrapping his arms around his narrow waist. He pressed a kiss to his neck, delighting in the feeling of Kent shivering against against him. God, he loved how Kent’s smaller frame easily fit against his, how his broad hands could effortlessly grip and maneuver his slim hips.

A plan was forming in his mind of spinning Kent around and kissing him thoroughly and then tugging him over to the bed and pushing him down. He would keep Kent pressed there against the pillows and then sit up again to look down at him. Kent would be there in the bed and mansion that he owned but wearing only Ransom’s shirt, proving that he was thoroughly  _ Ransom’s _ and no one else’s. His blue-gray eyes would be half-lidded and clouded with lust as he begged for Ransom to take him as hard and as rough as he could—

The abrupt pinging of Kent’s phone interrupted Ransom’s daydreams, and with a sigh, Kent untangled himself from Ransom’s arms to retrieve it from the bedside table.

He took one look at the screen and sighed. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. It’s one of my rookies. He’s in an argument with a streetsweeper and is freaking out about his car being towed.”

“Oh, come on!” Ransom threw up his hands in exasperation. Thwarted again—he couldn’t believe it. “Let him get his car towed, honestly. If he can’t figure out where to park his car, that’s his problem.”

“You know how it is. I have to be there for my rookies. And don’t worry.” Kent sent Ransom a knowing glance. “We’ll get back to this later. I promise.” He winked and blew Ransom a kiss and then dashed out the door, leaving Ransom alone with his tented jeans.

Left hanging for a second time—un-fucking-believable. Seriously, all he wanted to do was bang his boyfriend while said boyfriend was wearing one of his shirts. Was that so much to ask, really? Why did the universe conspire against him in this way? 

Grabbing a pillow, Ransom buried his face into it, letting out a muffled groan. “This. Sucks.” 

* * *

By the time Kent returned, Rans only had a sliver of hope left. It was quickly dashed, though, as even though he perked up when Kent walked through the door, his boyfriend made a beeline for the stairs.

“Going up to change clothes,” he explained. “Meet me upstairs in a couple of minutes.” 

Ransom slumped back against the couch cushions, thoroughly defeated. Still, it was a consolation to know he was going to get to bang his boyfriend anyway, so it was with some eagerness that he trekked up the stairs to the master bedroom and opened the door.

“There you are,” Kent said, turning to him with a wide grin, one hand resting on his hip. “Why don’t we pick up where we left off earlier?”

Ransom’s jaw dropped at the sight of him. True, Kent was no longer wearing his Frozen Four t-shirt—but that was because Kent was now wearing nothing but Rans’s Samwell jersey, its hem falling to the middle of his thighs. 

“I—I—” Ransom couldn’t even stammer the words out, but that didn’t honestly bother him. He was too busy drinking in the image of Kent clad in  _ his _ jersey,  _ his _ number. 

Forget Kent’s  _ Men’s Health _ photoshoot where he was only covered by the American flag. That was goddamn child’s play in comparison. Kent completely bare other than the Samwell jersey was by the far the hottest thing in the history of hockey. Or anything, as far as Ransom was concerned.

“It looks good,” he finally managed, somehow convincing his feet to move further into the room. “But it’s missing just one thing.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kent quirked an eyebrow at him challengingly. “Such as?”

Ransom grabbed his customary white hat from where it had been resting on the dresser and placed it backwards over Kent’s head before pulling him over to the bed and sitting down.

“There you are,” he murmured into Kent’s ear as he spread Kent’s legs so they could straddle his waist and then hauled him into his lap. “It’s just not Kent Parson without his snapback.”

Kent chuckled. “In that case, thank you for correcting my grievous oversight.” He stroked his hands through Ransom’s hair, trailing his fingers down over his neck. “Because what you’re getting is definitely Kent Parson. Thoroughly and completely.”  

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Ransom remarked with a grin, before flipping them over so that Kent was lying on the bed and he was on top of him. He was determined to make every one of the fantasies he’d had about himself and Kent come true.    


End file.
